


Cast Our Fate to the Wind

by LTiger (Lazarusmycroft)



Category: MorMor - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Brothels, F/F, F/M, M/M, Murder, So much smut, Tragic relationships, gangster au, mormor, new York in the thirties, post-prohibition, racketeering, sex sex sex, sinful deeds, suspenders, underground gay clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarusmycroft/pseuds/LTiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is the boss of an Irish crime family in New York City during the nineteen thirties. Prohibition has just been repealed and good times are ahead. That is, until a rival family of Italians put into action plans to run Moriarty from New York. Sebastian Moran is caught in the middle of what could possibly be the biggest gang war the city has ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Den

"Alright MacDonald, enough already. Finish it, aye?"

I've been standing around this cold warehouse long enough and heard this pathetic mongrel screaming as MacDonald took his time breaking each and every one of his fingers. I'm tired and hungry and it's obvious that the slimy Guinea isn't going to give us any information. I spit on the ground, I really can't stomach these filthy Italians.

"Aye, Mr. Moran but I'm sure I could get sommat outta him if ya just gimme a little longer."

I look down at my watch, "Nah. Go on, finish it. I'm freezing my balls off and I'm already late for the boss, he won't be happy."

I catch the look of disappointment on his young, eager face as I turn to light a smoke while he finishes up. Some of our guys will take care of the body and I'm glad that I don't have to think about it. I hate being late but there's nothing I can do for it now; I have no choice but to see this part through and I'll just have to explain it to the boss and hope he understands. I inhale deeply as I hear the echoing sound of the gunshot, I'm just happy to get the hell out of there. A warehouse down near the east river in December is not a pleasant place under any circumstances, today it's even less so.

The walk back up the gravel bank to the waiting car is a silent one and I'm grateful; it's been a long three days and I suspect it's not quite over yet. The cold winter sun is just setting over Manhattan as Tommy drives us up-town to the club. I was meant to have met the boss nearly an hour ago, I know he isn't going to be pleased with me and I can feel a dull throb beginning behind my eyes, I need sleep.

I realize with a start that on top of being late I'm also tasked with having to admit failure- this time. I just know that if I can get my hands on the right man's neck then I could get our answers. Sighing I close my eyes. I must've dozed off then because what seems like only a short time later I'm being shaken awake by Tommy as he's nearly shouting my name.

"Moran! C'mon we've arrived."

I'm groggy and it takes me a minute longer than I'm happy about to blink myself awake and remember where I am. When I do I feel a jolt go through me. I look around and notice that it's properly dark now and it's begun flurrying. I've stupidly kept the boss waiting for an hour and a half now, I groan. I step quickly from the vehicle then only pausing to be sure that my shirt is tucked neatly into my trousers and to adjust my suspenders. I know I'm wrinkled but there isn't anything I can do about it now. I'm in such a hurry that it's not until much later that I miss my hat which I leave on the backseat of the sedan.

The cold New York street is bustling with pre-Christmas shoppers and diners though I sincerely doubt that these respectable citizens will be patronizing this particular club tonight but stranger things have happened. I try to make it my personal policy to never pass judgement without sufficient information. So, who knows? Maybe I will see a few of these faces later.

With a final straightening of my tie I head in to the restaurant which serves as a guise for the real moneymaker. The club. _The Tiger's Den_.

I walk slowly past the few late diners, my shiny wing tips clicking on the tile floor. I smile at a few of the patrons whose faces I recognize. The cook waves at me from the kitchen, I nod my acknowledgement as I head for the door leading downstairs. I don't feel much like chatting tonight.

As soon as I push open the rickety wooden door that seems as though it would lead to a cellar I'm greeted with a cacophony of sounds; music, laughter, the happy sound of glasses clinking and voices talking over each other. A plume of tobacco smoke assails my nostrils and I smile to myself. Honestly, this place never fails to cheer me. It _is_ post-prohibition New York after all even if it has only been a little more than a week since the amendment was passed.

I descend the narrow stairs which come out behind the well stocked bar and suddenly I'm wide awake and my senses are tingling pleasantly. I know he's not bound to be pleased with me but I can't help the twinge in my gut at the prospect of seeing him.

Almost as soon as I step behind the bar I spot him as though my eyes are magnets and he's made of solid metal. He's sitting at a table in the far corner just near the small bandstand smoking and apparently deeply engrossed in a conversation with a very lovely woman whom I recognize immediately: Irene Adler.

Judging by their body language I figure I have enough time to help myself to a scotch- neat. I say a quick hello to the bartender as I scoot past him to reach the alcohol and after the first fortifying sip I feel that I'm prepared- or as prepared as I'm going to be- to face the music. I make my winding way through the crowd to his table and I know he's aware of me. He's been aware of my presence since I stepped foot in the door upstairs. This man misses nothing, if he ever decided to turn his talents to the side of the law there would be many criminals who'd rue that day. Luckily for all of us less-than-honest men, Jim Moriarty enjoys causing trouble far more than he would ever enjoy solving crimes.

I see his shining eyes flick to me as I approach the two and I can feel him surveying me briefly. When I finally reach the small, cozy table Irene stands, smiling dazzlingly at me. I return the smile as I take her proffered hand and brush my lips softly across her elegantly gloved knuckles.

"Mr. Moran," she says in her lovely, posh English accent. "Mr. Moriarty and I were just remarking on your tardiness. A most unattractive habit I'm afraid."

Her smile never falters for even a second as she speaks and I'm certain mine doesn't either. I've grown accustomed to her games and her sometimes sharp tongue. She glances back over her bare shoulder and the movement makes the light dance and shimmer on her fitted, sequined dress. I can't help wondering how she even got into it without some help, the thing is scandalously snug.

"James, my darling, I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. I trust you did as well." She glances back at me then, "I'll leave you to your business, shall I? We'll chat soon, I'm sure."

He simply smiles benignly while sipping his cocktail and his dark, knowing eyes watch shrewdly as she saunters tantalizingly away until she disappears from view. A moment later he returns his attention to me and holds a hand out to the vacant chair, inviting me to sit. I unbutton my suit coat as I do so then I follow his gaze back to the crowd in the dimly lit, hazy club.

Some of the patrons are dancing closely with their partners, arms wrapped securely around one another, a few are at the bar awaiting refills on their drinks and quite a few more are holding hands over a softly lit, romantic table and gazing adoringly at each other. Here and there in the shadowy corners of the room a few couples are passionately embracing and kissing as though they were alone in the place. It's really a lovely scene.

I think to myself how remarkably like any other club in New York this place truly is with only one thing making it unique. The majority of the couples dancing cheek to cheek or unable to keep their hands off of each other are of the same sex. This is a safe place for these people to be who they are and to enjoy their partner's company on a rare date out dancing.

I admit, I was shocked when he first brought me here. I was fresh off the boat from Ireland, a place that something like this would be sniffed out and brutally ended.  Also, I was busy looking over my shoulder for my debt collectors to come knocking. I never dreamed for even a second that a place like this could or should exist. ' _The Den_ ' is, of course, strictly speaking, still illegal but American cops, New York City cops in particular, are more than willing to look the other way for the right price especially since the end of prohibition and their sudden decline in extra pocket money. In fact, I notice two of them on the dance floor swaying in time to the smooth jazz.

He turns gracefully to me then and crosses his legs leisurely as he waits patiently for me to begin my tale.  He is the epitome of wealth, class and dignity and his charisma simply makes people around him want to do his bidding.  I'm not stupid enough to pretend that he isn't a viper lying in wait but somehow you just find yourself never wanting to disappoint him and I know that's exactly what I'm about to do so I take a breath before starting.

"First, allow me to apologize sir, for keeping you waiting-"

He waves a hand airily as though he were swatting away a pesky fly, "It's nothing!" He exclaims good naturedly.

Smiling, I continue. "Well, we spent three days with him at the warehouse. He was one tough sonofabitch to crack-" Here he interrupts me, his smile never even twitching.

"I trust that you _did_ 'crack' him though?"

I lower my eyes to my lap briefly but I'm not a coward and even when I've made a mistake I own it. Say what you want about me, I cheat at cards, I kill men, I bed married women but I'm not a coward. I look back up and meet his eyes purposefully.

"No. I'm sorry. He's no longer a concern but we couldn't get anything out of him, not a peep."

Jim responds with the tiniest of sighs and an almost imperceptible tightening of his smile making it somewhere between a grin and a grimace. I know from experience that no more will be said tonight on this unpleasant topic. His eyes then seem to visibly brighten as the band shifts tunes to something more upbeat which catches some couples off guard. A few are still swaying languidly for a few beats into the new song. He takes a sip of his drink before speaking again.

"Would you just look at the crowd here this evening Seb? It's a _Wednesday_ for God's sake! Wednesdays are typically so dreadfully dull, it must be the approach of Christmas that's brought everyone out. Plenty of sailors in town, on leave as well I expect." He says with a smirk.

I sit back in my chair and survey the abnormally large amount of people. I'm happy being at his side but I'm also uneasy. I want this business with the Santarelli family taken care of. I thought the guinea we finished off tonight was our ticket but he didn't say a word. Not one peep that could help us, I'm frustrated.

He must've been able to read my tumultuous thoughts on my face because he puts one hand gently on top of mine and says in a low voice, "We'll work it out. He's not the only one in Manhattan with information. Enjoy your evening, yeah?"

Then his hand is gone far too quickly for my liking. To try and distract myself I reach to my inside pocket for my cigarettes. When I stick one between my teeth and look up, intending to ask for a light, he's already leaning forward holding a lit, engraved lighter. His eyes are absolutely sparkling with hidden amusement. I can't help chuckling.

The remainder of the evening then passes in a blur of alcohol, smoke and jazz. I'm grateful when he finally gives me 'the look' which says, "I'm ready, let's go." It's some time very close to dawn and I'm exhausted. Our overcoats are brought to us as he makes his goodbyes which consists of quite a bit of cheek kissing and delicate hugs from a few of the women. I make it my personal duty to see him home safely each night; he saved my life when I turned up at his doorstep needing work, food and shelter so I'll be damned if I'll allow any harm to come to him on my watch.

Just before reaching his apartment he turns to me and says in a quiet voice, "Sebastian, I'd like to see you in my office at ten. I have some business to discuss with you."

I'm sure that whatever it is has to do with Ms. Adler, I had noticed that he'd been deep in thought all evening even though he put a show on for everyone else. I simply nod in agreement and he smiles. I can see how tired he is, he has dark circles under both eyes and due to my intimate knowledge of his life I'm aware of the grueling pace he's been keeping. I worry about him.


	2. Business

 After spending a few hours miserably tossing and turning I decide to give up any hope of sleep. It's an illusion to me anyway; I haven't slept soundly in many years and I'm sure I won't be starting any time soon. I sit at the scrubbed wooden table and pour a small amount of scotch into a glass that I'm not entirely sure is clean but seeing as it does have the least amount of grime on it of all the glasses I'm not overly concerned.

 Checking my watch I see that I have a few hours yet until I'm due to meet with him and I can't stop my brain from racing out of control like an engine. I've seen and done many things in my life that I'm not proud of, some of these things haunt me mercilessly.  Most nights when I close my eyes I see their faces, the faces of the people I let down, the ones I couldn't save.  My family.  My mother, father, sister and two brothers were all lost during the famine. I should be dead too but here I sit, in a small hole of an apartment above a shop in New York City and I've sworn my allegiance to a man who enjoys chaos and mayhem but at least he's willing to help the common man unlike any government I've ever run across.

 Before I even realize it I've smoked nearly all my rolled cigarettes and I'm absently running my thumb over the plain gold cross I wear around my neck, it belonged to my mother. I get up heavily then and go have a shower. I'm tired but the lukewarm water does help to revive me a bit.

 Once I'm dressed in a dark blue suit with a fresh, crisp white shirt I check to make sure my piece is loaded and I slip it securely into my shoulder holster before shrugging into my coat. Just before leaving I adjust my cuffs and grab my hat from the table and slip on my overcoat. It's bitingly cold and the wind is relentless as I head for Jim's office and I'm quite thankful for the layers that I'm wearing.

 I make sure to arrive with plenty of time to spare; after yesterday's mess I don't fancy turning up late again. He'd skin me alive if I did. I expect to have to wait but to my surprise he's ready for me so I go in and have a seat in the vacant chair before his desk. He's dressed as impeccably as always in a dark, pin-striped suit and a blood-red tie lays perfectly on his starched, white shirt like a stain. I can just see his matching suspenders peeking from beneath his coat. His raven colored hair is gelled perfectly into place and away from his expressive face. I notice happily that he appears visibly more rested than he had seemed the previous evening.

 "Sebastian, thank you for coming so early today. I know yesterday was- _ah_ \- _grueling_ for you. However much I would like you to rest, I know you far too well to think that's actually a possibility."

 I smile widely at that; he's right, of course. I have to agree too, I'm sure that there is no one who knows me half as well as Jim Moriarty and I can safely say that there isn't anyone whom I would like to divulge all my secrets to apart from this man. I assure you that my secrets are plentiful.

"Quite so." I respond, "I'll have plenty of rest when I'm rotting in a shallow grave and worms are crawling in my eye sockets."

 He chuckles merrily at that. "Gruesome yet poetic. Now, to business." He leans forward and intertwines his dexterous fingers.

 "Last evening Ms. Adler and I were dining and she informed me of a part in an upcoming production that she desires. She tells me that it's the kind of part that would put her name in lights permanently."

 He becomes dramatic as he finishes with a flourish of his hands obviously meant to mimic the flashing neon lights that are all over Broadway. I, however, am confused. She's stunningly beautiful with her silky, dark hair and crystal clear, blue eyes. Her full lips, which are always painted crimson, are sensual in the extreme and her high, regal cheekbones are just a few of her more notable attributes and that's to say nothing of her curves which she uses delightfully to her advantage. I fail to see the trouble with her getting any part she could possibly ever want but I'm sure there is some problem or I wouldn't be sitting here.

 "So," I ask, "Who's giving her a hard time of it?"

 This elicits a pleased grin. "That's what I like about you Sebastian. You're really quite clever. Santarelli's top gal is auditioning for the same part and, if rumors can be believed, then there is every likelihood that she'll get it over our more suitable Ms. Adler."

 He sits back then, frowning. I'm sure I know the answer to my question before I even ask it but I do ask it anyway.

"That poor, frumpy thing, aye? She's not got an ounce of talent and I've shagged farmer's wives in Ireland that looked better. Who's she fucking then?"

 Again he grins at me and I like the look in his eyes.

 "Always so eloquent Sebastian. I think it's obvious though, don't you? I'm certain that our director isn't too picky when it's dark and she's giving him what he's after, aye?"

 I chuckle dryly as I light a smoke. "Okay boss, whaddya need me to do then?" Once again I'm pretty sure that I can deduce the answer but I still want to hear him say it. I can tell he's just playing along.

 "I'd like you to go and have a wee chat with this Mr. Hollywood. Make him understand that it'd be in his best interest if he'd consider Ms. Adler a little more closely."

 "Sure," I say as I crush out my smoke in the crystal ash tray. "Where do I find this git?"

 He leans forward and hands me a folder. "Everything you need is in there. Seb," He says my name in a tone I understand completely and I look up from the papers. His face has gone stonily serious and I'm sure I know what comes next.

 "I don't want this dirty. Just talk with him, I don't need to tell you that this doesn't come back to me."

 I keep his gaze and then smile widely at him as I close the folder. "You _don't_ need to tell me that sir. We'll just have a chat, that's all." Now he smiles at me and leans back, buttoning his coat as he makes to stand up.

 "Very good! Come on then, you can't do anything until a little later. Let's go and grab a bite."

 I agree and only then do I realize how hungry I am. Scotch is not a very filling breakfast it seems but it does help me get through the day.

 We have lunch at a small café in the Village, it's run by two of the only Italians I can bear to be around, Gino and Milo. They're good friends to Jim and myself and they're trustworthy plus they make the best cannolis in the city. I remember now that I saw them in the club last night, my head was foggy.

 After chatting with Milo for a bit and after having extra cannolis forced on us Gino comes out of the back looking harassed. Milo's face immediately becomes concerned and I'm instantly on guard. When Gino sees us he comes over and is all smiles but I know something is very wrong and I can see that Jim knows as well. None of say anything aloud but I know that Jim and I will be discussing this later, it's not always safe to say too much when other people can hear and I'm sure if anything was life threatening Gino wouldn't let us sit here like ducks so we let the moment pass.

 When we finally say our goodbyes the boss and I go outside and he's heading for the sedan at the curb. He glances up and down the street and then turns to me looking concerned.

 "Find me at ' _The Den_ ' this evening once you've cleared up that little situation. I'm sure we shall have cause to celebrate, yeah?"

I nod and he hesitates before getting into the car; he glances around again before closing the door. Tommy, his driver, is a good kid and I know I can trust him so I don't worry too much as the shiny automobile trundles away. I slip my hand inside my coat and feel the reassurance of my piece before turning in the opposite direction toward my destination, the theatre district.

I know what needs doing but I need to find a way to do it. I figure this Hollywood prat is used to strong-arming tactics and I'm sure that he doesn't need me to try and bribe him, his productions earn him enough that he doesn't need any chump change from us so that won't do. Maybe this is one time that simply chatting could actually work.

 I stop at a small coffee shop for two reasons, I'm frozen solid and I decide I need to glance at the papers Jim gave me earlier. The pretty waitress brings me a steaming mug of black coffee which I accept gratefully and I sip it eagerly, burning my tongue in the process. Once I'm thawed just a bit I pull out the folder. It's unmarked and contains a few newspaper clippings with some helpful, grainy photos of my man.

 In a small write up about one of his more popular shows it tells a bit about the man behind the production and it seems that he's married to a pretty young thing that appears to be half his age. The article claims that she was once one of his child stars and they are now married, she's twenty and they have a set of twins who are just a year old. I chuckle to myself as I think of this man, these type of men are all the same and honestly they make me sick.

After I finish my coffee and my reading I pay my tab and head back out into the cold. I feel that now, at least I am armed. I put up my collar and pull my hat lower against the wind and flurries then I turn in the direction of Broadway and what is just another job.  Business is business and I'm never afraid to do what I must. 


	3. No Weapons

As I approach Broadway and the foot traffic becomes heavier I do my best to blend in with the theater goers. The leaden sky is threatening snow and grows steadily darker as an early winter's twilight approaches. Various nicely dressed couples stroll by in the pursuit of evening entertainment and they have many options.

I finally reach the small office space where this guy has set up shop for his auditions. I check the place out thoroughly before entering, daily auditions seem to just be finishing as girls and boys of various ages come out chatting and winding thick scarves over their heads and faces against the cold. I go in then as the crowd exiting thins. I go straight up to the very pretty young girl at the desk.  She has her mousy brown hair tied in a low knot on her neck and her warm brown eyes look up at my approach. I think she can't be more than twenty.

"How may I help you, sir?" She asks and I can tell that she's trying her hardest to mask a heavy New Jersey accent.

I smile warmly at her and remove my hat. "Good evening miss. My name is Sebastian Moran," Her eyes go wide at my Irish brogue, "I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to give me some information? You see, I'm looking for someone, about a job, electrical for the set." I motion in the direction of where I assume the auditions have just finished.

She hesitates and then responds, "Well, Mr. Moran, I'll help if I can but most everyone is gone for the night. Who are you looking for?"

"I understand," I say as I lean forward a bit. "I'm looking for Mr. Watson."

Her eyes go as wide as saucers and I'm sure she wishes she hadn't offered to help now. She lowers her eyes to the papers in front of her on the desk and I know she's struggling internally with what to do. Finally she looks back at me.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm only supposed to deal with the actors. Good evening."

I'm undeterred. I hold my hands up and fix a frown firmly on my face while glancing around at the last stragglers leaving the building.

"Of course!" I say and I lean in again, "I understand but, you see, if I don't get to chat with your boss then my boss is going to fire me and I just can't be out on the street. Not in this weather."

As if on cue the snow almost seems to fall heavier. I see her eyes look outside and then I watch as she bites her lip hesitantly. I know she'll come around. I decide to go one further, she seems sweet and I figure I need to use that to my advantage.

"You, see, I lost my entire family a few years ago during a harsh Irish winter. I know how horrible it is to freeze almost to death." 

I lower my eyes to the floor and I hope she's buying it. She sighs as she makes up her mind and I hear her shuffling some papers so I look back up.

"Oh, I'll probably get fired myself for this,"

I gently take her wrist and she doesn't pull away, "What's your name?" I ask.

"Molly, Molly Hooper."

"Beautiful name," I say, "I assure you that your boss will never find out that you helped me. You have my word."

She's still unsure but she helps in spite of her intuition. "He's dining at 'Lombardi's' on 42nd. Please, please Mr. Moran, I can't afford to lose this job." Her round face is anxious and I smile reassuringly at her, at least, I hope that's how it appears.

"Don't fret Ms. Hooper, no one will know. Thank you, for everything. Good evening."

I turn, buttoning my overcoat and prepare to go back out into what is rapidly turning into a blizzard. I scowl at the swirling snow, it's always harder to make my way through the city when it's snowing like this. Just outside on the sidewalk I stop to light a cigarette which is difficult owing to the gusting wind but it turns out to be good luck because just as I start to walk off I hear my name.

"Mr. Moran! Sir! You forgot your hat!"

I turn and see the lovely Molly running toward me and just as she approaches I realize that she can't stop; the ground is slushy and slippery and she's wearing high heeled shoes. Luckily I notice in time and put my hands out to stop her, I grab her by her elbows as she plows directly into my chest. I feel badly, I'm sure I've bruised her delicate arms.

"Thank you Molly. I seem to always be forgetting this."

She smiles uncertainly and I catch her glance at my chest and I'm sure she felt my gun there. I'm hoping she won't mention it and I'm relieved when she doesn't. I place my hat on my head and touch the brim gently in thanks.

"It's freezing out here, you better get back inside. Thank you again, for all of your help."

She turns and walks at a slow pace back to the building and I'm sure she's frightened. I watch for a moment longer then I turn and head for Lombardi's.

* * *

 

I find her boss, a Mr. John Watson, exactly where she said I would. He's dining with a table full of men who appear to be exact replicas of the man. Well dressed, flashy and raucous. Men who believe that they alone have the world on a chain but in reality they are the actors, they're the ones who put a show on daily. Their carefully crafted façades would shatter like an eggshell with the right amount of force, I intend to test my theory.

I decide to go to the bar and have a drink first, I need to come up with a plan of action. I can't very well strut into the midst of seven men with superiority complexes and demand that he give Irene the part in his new production. No, I must await my moment. The handsome young man behind the bar asks what I'd like and I order a Scotch without taking my eyes from the table. When he brings it to me I can feel him still standing at my elbow, he's absently wiping the shiny bar with a rag. I turn to him and he's gazing in the direction of the table.

"He come here a lot?" I ask and the kid nods. "I'll wager they're always like that too, aye?" Again he nods.

I've spent nearly all of my adult life in the company of dishonest men and cut-throat women. I fled Ireland years ago because I owed a lot of nasty men a lot of change once my tricks were up. I bedded some women and even a few men who tried, unsuccessfully, to open my throat. It's truly a wonder that I'm still here, firmly on this side of hell, honestly. I can handle danger and brutality without even blinking but when I've got a job to do and I can't use force, I'm at a disadvantage.

I watch a while longer as they sit around drinking glasses of port and smoking fat cigars while slapping each other on the back. The fraternity of it all turns my stomach. I decide that I know exactly what I must do, I decide to wait until he gets up to go and take a piss, I imagine he'll need to soon enough. I wait patiently while the olive skinned, dark haired bartender is now cleaning a glass somewhere nearby. None of the men at the table even glance over my way and I'm pleased about that.

A soft voice behind me startles me. "They're in here at least three times a week. Not always exactly the same group, mind you, but a couple of them are mainly always here."

I wonder mildly what I've done to solicit this information but I never look a gift horse in the mouth. I turn to face him and I'm struck by how beautiful he is. Full lips, dark brown hair with subtle auburn tones throughout, dark, warm eyes that seem to reflect the obvious fire in his soul. I offer him my hand and he shakes it firmly, he tells me his name is Anthony but tells me to call him Tony and then before either of us could say anything more he nods, almost imperceptibly, toward the table and I see that Watson has stood and appears to be heading for the loo. I nod my head briefly at Tony to indicate my thanks and I'm slightly awed at his apparent cunning.

I take my lighter from the bar and I'm halfway to the head when I realize that there's a paper which isn't mine attached to it. I look at it briefly and read,

_~must talk with you, I'll find you at The Den~ T_

I don't have time now to deal with this, I've got my man alone and I have a deal to make. I stuff the paper in my trouser pocket and push open the door.


	4. Negotiations

I'm careful to move slowly toward the back of the joint, I don't want to attract any undue attention and I'm sure he's got eyes everywhere. He'd be stupid not to. I hear the beginning notes of the piano as I push open the door and step silently inside the gents washroom. When I'm inside I look around and see that it's just the two of us and he's in one of the stalls so I gently turn the lock without making a sound.

I go and have a piss while waiting for him, I don't like doing negotiations with a full bladder. I'm just going to wash my hands in the basin when he comes out and he doesn't even glance at me but I don't take my eyes from his face. I step away and slowly light a cigarette while he dries his hands thoroughly on the white linen towel. It's then that he becomes aware that we're alone and his senses suddenly pick up on my presence. I smile around the cigarette in my mouth as he turns round slowly to face me. He nods at me and I have to suppress a strong urge to knock a few teeth loose. Admirably I let the emotion subside.

"Can I help you with something son?" He asks with an air of condescension and I'm not surprised by his Eastern, upper-class, American accent. Pretentious prick. I step closer to him and extend my hand to shake his and he takes it firmly. He's obviously trying very hard and I don't even blink.

"Mr. Watson," I say and he smiles in spite of his best intentions to act tough, men like him live to be noticed and known. It strokes his ego. "My name is Sebastian Moran."

He shrugs and reaches for his lighter to relight his extinguished pipe. I see tiny beads of sweat on his brow and I'll admit, I'm chuffed.

"Ah, from the Emerald Isle, eh?" He asks jokingly. "Am I supposed to know you though? I'm a very busy man and I meet a lot of people in the course of my day so I don't really tend to remember faces and names."

I chuckle at his self promotion. "A man in you're position would do well to remember people but no, we haven't met before. I'll wager, I'm a betting man you see, that you'll not forget me as promptly as you'd like."

His eyes go wide with disbelief and he huffs out a laugh. "Excuse me sir, are you threatening me?"

 I hold both hands up, palms out, in a placating manner and shake my head in mock indignation as though he has wounded my pride greatly. "Of course not!" I respond in a scandalized tone of voice. "I was simply hoping to have a chance to speak with you, that's all. Just fancied a wee chat."

He's still a little wary and rightly so as he answers, "Yeah? And why's that?"

"Well, word has it that you're currently casting for a new production."

I watch as comprehension dawns on his plain features and he smiles, arrogance is now etched in every line of his face. His lip begins twitching and he sets his still unlit pipe on the counter.

"You're here about my new production? What, are you an agent or something? I've never heard of you so you mustn't be very good."

I laugh and it echoes in the small, marble room. "Yeah, I suppose you could call me an agent, of sorts. Though, I actually just came here to give ye a little friendly advice, mate."

His face is incredulous, "Yeah? Go on then, I'm all ears."

"I have - _ah_ \- reliable information that you've possibly already made your casting choice." I see that he wants to argue but I continue before he can interrupt. "I'm here to recommend that you take a good, hard look at _ALL_ the girls who turn up for auditions."

He crosses his short arms over his chest and leans against the wash counter. "I suppose you have a certain broad in mind?" His question is more of a statement. It makes me grin.

"I'm a fan of your productions Mr. Watson. My favorite was the comedy about that daft detective bloke from London." I straighten my neatly buttoned cuffs before continuing. "I suppose I'm just hoping you make the right choices again. I hear that Ms. Irene Adler is quite remarkable."

Now his anger is fully surfacing and I'm pleased. I was beginning to think that this would be too easy. He splutters incoherently at first and I simply watch with my hands in my trouser pockets fingering the cold steel of my knife which I'm now happy to have brought along.

"You...I...I never! You listen here you-you **GOON**! I am one of the top producers in this city, you hear me? I will _NOT_ be told what to do by some filthy immigrant _Mick_!"

I've been called far worse names in my time, mostly by people close to me, so I let the insult slide but what _DOES_ anger me is that this puffed up git has the balls to poke me in the chest as he finishes shouting. His face is beet red but I'm sure his anger is nothing to the fury I feel roiling in the pit of my gut. I take a calming breath as I hear Jim's faint, Irish lilt in my mind saying, _"Seb, I don't want this dirty."_ Honestly that slight Irishman is the only man alive with the power to stop me killing when I'm riled, even when he's not around he can control me.

 I take a step closer to the angry producer and I see in his eyes that he's now questioning the advisability of his earlier outburst. "Mr. Watson," I say quietly, my tone is deadly. "I am mostly a reasonable man. I assure you that I did not come here to muscle you but rest assured that if muscling is what's needed I shall not hesitate."

I turn and move away, when I turn back I see he's moved a few steps closer to the door and the exit. I smile wolfishly.

"Now, do everyone a favor, yeah? Take my friendly advice and consider _ALL_ your options."

He's still angry so I wait it out. I'm sure he's not through with shouting at me and I don't mind. I check my watch. It's early, not yet half past nine.

"She's not getting that part."

He's a bit calmer, almost subdued, as he speaks now. His tone almost sounds resigned, weary.

"Why's that then? You're not still angry that she refused your attention, are ye? You're a married man sir, you've not forgotten that I trust."

His expression is an odd mixture of fury, incredulity and loathing. I can see the gears grinding into motion.

"So, that's your angle, eh? You know, it's no good. I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't. You're really fucking me here."

I shrug nonchalantly, I honestly couldn't care less about this man and his life. I'm doing a job for a man who _does_ matter.

"Maybe ye should've been a better husband, aye? Ye said your vows before God Mr. Watson and myself, I'm a God fearing man. You should be too. Look at it this way, the broad could ruin your marriage if you don't give her the part but me? Well, I promise you I _WILL_ ruin your life. It's a very simple choice, really."

I step directly up to him so that there is very little space between us and I slip a business card into his breast pocket, he shudders in response. "Be in touch, aye?"

I turn to leave then. I hear him exhale in a huff as I reach the door and just before I can turn the lock he speaks again and his voice is flat.

"I'm a dead man either way Mr. Moran. You know whose gal she is, right?"

I don't turn to face him as I respond. I keep my voice low, "Santarelli might be the big bad wolf, Mr. Watson, but I assure you that I am very capable when it comes to bagging a kill." I push open the door and leave without ever glancing back. I know he'll do what I've asked and all I can do now is wait so I head to _The Den_.

* * *

 

My chest feels tight as I think of it. It's been hours since I saw him and I'm sure he's fine but it always makes me a little nervous when I'm not with him. He's made a lot of enemies in his line of work so it's natural that I worry.

In the time I've spent inside the restaurant the snow has really piled up, I'd say there's a coating of at least two inches on the ground. It's so muffled and silent outside that you could almost believe the world isn't  the harsh place it truly is. I sigh and make my way to the club.

I get there more quickly than I had thought I would. He's seated at his usual table and he's surrounded by people, men and women all vying for his attention even if it's only for a brief moment. I go over to the crowd and they part easily for me. I'm known and expected to be at his side so there's no question of the person sitting next to him simply getting up and leaving for me.

He takes my hand gently as I sit and pulls me in close to kiss me on the cheek and I thank God that it's warm in the room to hide my blush. Just before he sits back he whispers, "Follow me in a moment."

Then he sits straight and is all smiles for the adoring crowd. I'm awed. A few minutes later he glances in my direction and I follow his lead. He stands, excusing himself and I wait. A young man at my right is bending my ear and after almost five minutes I excuse myself, saying I need the Jack.

I head in that direction which I know he went. Just before I reach the loos a cold hand reaches from behind a curtain and grabs my wrist, my heart flutters. I allow myself to be led into a small, hidden corridor. It's a very tight and intimate space. The lighting is almost sinister and he smiles up at me, I use a Herculean effort to not wrap my arms about him.

He comes even closer and I feel my breath hitch; he has one hand in his trouser pocket and with his other he slides it under the lapel of my coat and firmly grabs my suspender. I'm sure he can hear my heartbeat. He takes a moment and doesn't meet my eyes for a minute longer than I'd like. Finally his dark, mysterious eyes look up from my chest and lock me even more firmly in place.

" _Sebastian Augustus Moran_. I assume you have delightful news, aye?" His voice is a whisper and it's a wonder I'm even still standing. The way he says my name, drawing out every syllable, would cause anyone to go weak.

"Yes, sir, Irene will most certainly be getting the part. I've made our position clear to Mr. Watson."

His smile gets even wider and I'm lost. He steps closer and I _know_ that I stop breathing. Before I'm aware he has me pinned and has both of his hands on my suspenders holding me in place. I feel like I've been waiting for this moment my entire life and at the same time I'm not even remotely prepared. I have no time to decide which I prefer before his lips are on mine and I feel complete.

I'm melting, falling over the Brooklyn bridge, plunging to my death and I'm happy about it, in fact, it's the best thing I've ever experienced. I'm thankful that this is how I'll die. His mouth is warm and seeking on mine, I can feel that he needs me as much as I need him and it's the most incredible sensation. I put my hands around his waist at last and I nearly melt, I've never been this happy and yet I know, in my heart of hearts, that it will only end in tragedy. I breathe him in and I love him. I love this man, I only wish he was capable of the same.


	5. First Strike

We stand there embracing for an interminable amount of time and honestly I don't care if we ever move from this spot. Realistically I know that we must but I allow myself to dream for a little bit at least. Too soon he pulls back and looks at me curiously. He brings one hand to my mouth and ever so gently he rubs my bottom lip with his thumb while tilting his head to one side. My arms are still firmly wrapped around him and I do _not_ want to let go.

Suddenly, however,  the heavy curtain is pushed aside and Irene Adler stands there with her hands on her hips and her head tilted, a knowing and pleased smile is on her crimson lips. She's dressed finely in a floor length, fitted silk dress and her mink stole is around her shoulders. She's preparing to leave for the evening.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting darlings."

She can barely contain her smile and I pull my hands away and stuff them in my pockets. He's entirely composed as usual, his mouth quirks into a naughty grin.

"Not interrupting at all my dear. What can I do for you?"

I notice a slight breathlessness to his voice.

"I must be off for the evening dearest," She frowns, "I was hoping you'd lunch with me tomorrow? Only if it's not a bother."

He turns his face very slightly to me and I see how dark his eyes are and my pulse quickens once again.

"I'd love to, you've taken the words straight from my mouth. I'm sure you won't mind if Seb joins us?"

Her eyes flick to me briefly and I see she's not thrilled about it but of course she could never say that to him, especially not in light of her obvious suspicions being confirmed.

"I couldn't _imagine_ him not joining us love. Shall we say noon at _The Waldorf_?"

"Sounds delightful."  He responds and he leans forward to kiss her on both cheeks in farewell. I take his lead and finally am able to make my body move to do the same. She looks at us both closely for a minute longer and then she turns away.

When we're alone once again he turns back to me and softly flattens the lapels of my coat, his face has gone serious. Of course, I'm instantly concerned. He leaves his hands flat on my chest but he doesn't meet my eyes. My heart feels as though it wants to beat right out of my chest and I wonder if he feels it.

"Seb, marvelous work this evening." He pauses and backs up a step, I hate every inch between us. "I'll see you tomorrow, don't be late aye?"

I'm confused, I always see him home. I clear my throat, "Sir?" He regards me momentarily then his face splits into a grin.

"Go and enjoy your evening for a change, you've earned it. I can look after myself."

My face must betray my thoughts because he takes my hand and holds it in both of his, I drop my gaze. I'm worried about what's coming next, I know him well enough to know that he has something up his well tailored sleeve. He squeezes my hand and then turns to leave but he stops thoughtfully and gives me a look I can't identify. Another squeeze and he's gone.

I don't know where to put myself. After a moment longer I decide to go and have one final drink before going home. I'm lost in my own head, my thoughts are as inconsistent as the swirling snow and I can't figure out what to do next. I go to the bar and the bartender, Jack, sees me coming and pours me a Scotch; I've never been more thankful. I nod my thanks as he slides it to me then I turn and look out over the couples here this evening. It's not as busy as it was the previous night but it's still rather crowded.

I'm subconsciously searching for him, just a glimpse of his sleek dark hair, a brief sighting of that wicked little smile. He's nowhere to be seen. Sighing I return my attention to my drink. I must be in my own world because the next thing I know I'm startled by hearing my name from a soft voice next to me. I turn and see the young, attractive face of the bartender I met earlier this evening at Lombardi's. More recent events seemed to have made me forget that he was going to be here. He extends a hand and I grasp it firmly.

"Mr. Moran, Tony. From earlier."

I smile and nod, "Yes, I recognized you. Is there something I can do for you?"

His face is anxious and his dark eyes seem to be darting all over the room as if he's afraid of being spotted. I step closer.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"  I ask at his odd behavior.

He shakes his head and swallows. "Is-is there somewhere that we can talk, sir?"

I look around, I'll admit, I'm a bit puzzled and now I'm very much interested in what he has to say. I motion to a table in the corner that seems unoccupied and out of the way of the main crowd. I order two more drinks from Jack and then lead the young man away.

When we're seated I wait for him to speak and he takes his time. I think he's making up his mind right now, whether he's doing the right thing. I allow him all the time he needs and light a cigarette. He finally speaks and his voice is low but admirably steady.

"I've some information sir and I think your boss would like to know."

I lean forward, "What kind of information? You know that we are prepared to pay, and pay well, if it's the right kind of information."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I don't want money, sir. With all due respect that's not what I need at all."

I'm confused, "What, then, would you like in exchange?"

He looks around the room again and I see the fear in his eyes. I suddenly feel like I want to shield this young man from the horrid blood stained world in which we live. He's so young and fresh but his eyes are so haunted and jaded.

"Protection." He answers and his voice is barely above a whisper.

I sit back in my chair and survey him. "I'm sure I know who you need protection from so I won't bother asking. I'd be happy to provide that but I do hope that your information is worth the risk you're taking now by sitting here with me."

"It's worth it. The rumor is that Santarelli is trying to shut you down, he wants you outta this town. He despises your boss and he'll stop at nothing when it comes to running him out."

"I know, we're aware that he's got it out for us so that's not news."

His eyes dart around the room once again and he's beginning to make me uneasy. "No. I know that but what you don't know is that he has a plan and is prepared to put it into action on New Year's Eve. He plans to have this place raided and ruin Mr. Moriarty. He'll smear his name on the front of every paper and ruin all of his other businesses when people become aware of what _The Den_ is. He might even succeed in getting him deported and I know that if there is a fight or resistance of any kind that his men have orders to kill."

I knew the bastard had plans for us, that's what I'd been trying to discover for the last few weeks and I'd not been successful. I can't help wondering exactly why this kid would choose to come to me though; it seems odd that he'd offer up all of this without being provoked especially when his very life is on the line for doing so.

"Why? Why'd you feel that you should come to me, eh? I don't know you from Adam and I know I don't have a trustworthy face so, out with it. What's your real deal boy?"

He hesitates and then he sighs, obviously deciding to come clean. My attention is rapt.

"I come here often, sir. As often as I can, you see. I enjoy _The Den_ and I'm comfortable here, d'you understand?" I nod and he continues. "There isn't anywhere else I can go, nowhere in the city allows all of this and so elaborately." He gestures at the couples dancing on the floor and I notice that there are a lot less than before, it must be remarkably late.

"Okay, I understand but still, you can continue working for Santarelli and spend your evenings here. It's not adding up."

He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them I see that he's resigned even if he's still terrified. "He's my father."

I laugh in a huff and sit back heavily in my chair. So that's it, Santarelli is this kid's father and here he is asking _us_ for protection. This can easily turn into a fucking mess. Still, I want to help if I can.

"Alright kid, listen, go on home and pretend everything's normal, aye? Come by in two days, on Saturday. I'll talk to my boss and we'll sort it, yeah?"

I put my hand on top of his where it rests on the table and he's startled. He nods then and I down the rest of my Scotch, I need to try and catch at least an hour of sleep before I have to have lunch with Jim and Irene. Just as I'm heading for the door and buttoning my overcoat I hear my name being shouted frantically somewhere behind me. I turn and see MacDonald running at me, all color has drained from his face.

"Moran, come on."

I follow him up the stairs and out the back door of the restaurant. Tommy's car is parked in the snow covered alley and it looks like it's been sitting there for hours; at least four inches of fresh snow cover the entire thing except for the driver's side door where it's obviously been recently opened. I look over at MacDonald and I'm sure I know what I'm about to find. I yank heavily on the door and it opens.

Tommy is hunched over the wheel, bits of bone and blood are spattered on the windshield and dash from the bullet hole in his skull. On his back is a note in a messy hand.

_**~Don't forget who runs this town. You filthy Mick's are going to learn a lesson~** _

I'm furious but I contain my temper for the moment as I turn to MacDonald.

"Where is Mr. Moriarty?"

"He left hours ago, I personally saw him home. He's okay. I did it because we couldn't find Tommy."

I'm very slightly relieved but I'm still going by his place before I go home. "Take care of this and don't let many find out. Keep it quiet."

He nods and I turn to go in the opposite direction. My thoughts are out of control and I need to make some decisions. If that guinea bastard wants a war then I'm more than happy to give him one but it'll be on my terms. I light a smoke as I walk and I'm happy the snow has stopped for now, I suspect that this is going to be one of the coldest winters in history.


	6. This'll Be War

I briefly stop at his apartment on my way home but I don't go up. I feel satisfied that he's safe for now and I figure he could hear the news in the morning. Nothing can be done right now anyway.

I'm lucky if I catch an hour of sleep and I know it's starting to show. The dark circles under my eyes are getting darker while the red veins running through them seem to multiply. I rub a hand over my face as I inspect it in the washroom mirror. I check my watch and see that it's now ten in the morning, I'm planning to meet him at his office before heading to _The Waldorf_ ; I'd rather be the one to tell him about Tommy and I know I will be.

I tighten the knot of my dark tie and secure my suspenders to my trousers before slipping my holster over my shoulders and sliding my Colt .45 into place. Lastly, I shrug on my coat and over coat while placing my hat atop my head and setting out. I'm tense and I carry a leaden feeling in my gut at the thought of what may happen over the next few weeks.

I've been in the middle of these things before but never one that's been building for nearly five years now. Santarelli has had it out for Jim since we refused to cut him in on the bootlegging deal. When he saw our operation and what we were pulling in he obviously wanted a piece of the action but anyone with a brain knows that you don't trust that slimy Guido. There's been bad blood since and it appears as though it's all about to bubble over.

I reach his office and I go right in, somehow I know he'll be expecting me. He's scribbling on a piece of paper when I enter and he doesn't look up.

"Be sure it's locked."

I turn the key in the lock and it makes a sharp snick. I go and sit in the empty chair before his desk. I know better than to speak until he's finished what he's doing, I've been nearly skinned more than once and I've learned my lesson. Another moment passes and he lays his fountain pen aside and looks at me frankly. 

"I know what you're here to tell me Sebastian."

I blink and then realize how daft I am; of course he'd know that they got to Tommy, the kid was never late a day in his life and he was always there to drive the boss so the only logical explanation would be death. I sigh deeply.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know he was in danger, I'd not have left him unprotected."

He's silent as he leans back in his chair, his dark jacket falls away to reveal his beautiful gold watch chain dangling from the pocket of his waist coat and I know what that means. He only brings that watch out when he feels he needs the luck of the Irish on his side therefore I never equate it with being a good sign. It's been in his family for many generations and he's convinced that it protects him when he wears it; in fact the most surprising thing about this man is that he's so superstitious.

"I'm angry Seb, they'd've not gotten to us so easily two years ago. What happened?" He keeps his voice low and the anger is palpable. I think I'd prefer if he shouted but he gets quieter and softer the angrier he gets and that's terrifying. I shake my head in response to his question.

"I don't know sir. I'll take care of it, ye know that. It's not over, it's not even begun."

He runs a hand over his jaw and his eyes are as threatening as the heavy leaden sky outside. I'm sure I don't know what's going through his mind but I wait patiently. He reaches to his pocket and pulls out the gold watch flipping it open and reads the time then he looks back to me again.

"You _will_ take care of this Sebastian. D'you know _why_ you'll fix it?"

He stands up and I nod my understanding, my mouth has gone dry. He slams his palm down on the desk and leans forward, a vein is bulging in his neck.

" _THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU DID THIS_."

His words sting but I don't look away. I know I'm indirectly responsible for this. He stares at me with that horrible glare for another minute then he straightens and adjusts his tie. Sliding his hands in his trouser pockets he turns away from me.

"Go. Get out, do _not_ show your face again until you bring me someone's head. _GO_."

I don't wait to be told again, I stand up heavily and grab my overcoat on my way out. Just before I open the door he speaks again.

"They don't get to us Sebastian. No one gets to us."

"Yes, sir. I understand." Then I leave before he says another word. I'm just as angry and I can't stay and allow him to rail at me that way, it won't end well.

* * *

 

I make my way to our place in Harlem, I know that I'll find a few of our guys there and we'll need to come up with a plan. The place is closed at this early hour but I know that a few boys will be there, playing cards, drinking and fucking about. I find Paul, Finn, Danny and Seamus sitting around smoking and drinking. I look at my watch and see it's only eleven thirty. They all look up when I enter and it goes silent in the place, the cigarette smoke hangs like a thick fog.

I go and stand behind Finn, the youngest and most promising of the group. He has bright red hair and his unlined face is covered in freckles. I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze, Tommy was his cousin and I know he'll be taking his death hard.

"Lads," I say to the room at large, "We've work to do, put away the spirits, aye?"

Seamus stands up then. "What're we doin' then boss? We gonna go get us some greasy, guinea carcasses?"

I smile slightly and light a smoke. "Aye, Seamus, we are."

His eyes go wide, I don't think he was expecting that answer.

"I've got an idea of where to find the bastards." I stop and pour a small amount of whisky from the bottle into an empty glass and raise it, they all do the same.

"May Tommy give the devil hell."

After we all drink to the lad I tell them where we'll find Santarelli's thugs and we head out. Finn drives and I think it's his way of honoring Tommy and it's fine by me, I've never fancied driving.

A short time later we arrive in East Harlem on 122nd street at the dingy little pub that's run by Santarelli's brother Mikey. Mikey is the odd one of the family, no brains at all in his thick skull but plenty of muscle. Before we step out I instruct Finn to stay put along with Paul and I tell Danny he's with me. Seamus comes along but stays just outside the place.

"Mr. Moran, sir?" Finn says just as I'm getting out so I stop and turn back to the kid, he looks like he's scared shitless but his jaw is set and I can see a fire in his eyes. "You'll make 'em pay, right? For what they did to Tommy?"

I clap him on the shoulder once and nod at him. Danny and I get out and walk up to the bar, the clouds are beginning to break and a rare glimmer of sun can be seen. I toss my finished cigarette into the street and pull open the heavy door.

Inside there are four of them sitting around and the bartender is wiping the shiny wooden bar with a rag. They all look up when we enter, the place is closed so we've obviously startled them. The big guy with the dark, short hair nods at me while he lays his cards down on the table. I tip my hat and walk to the bar where I order a bottle of whisky.

When he brings it uncertainly to me I pour out a bit into two glasses and hand one over to Danny. I raise my glass in the air and make a toast, "To a fine young lad named Tommy."

I drink my whisky and set my glass down on the bar loudly. The big, ugly guido that's been watching us keenly now gets up and comes over to the bar. He's very close to me, too close.

"What are you fuckin' leprechauns doin in my bar? Can't ya read English? We're closed, get the fuck out."

I take a breath, "Oh, I can read just fine, thanks. I'm here about a little matter though. One of our lads turned up dead the other night, thought ye might know a little something about that. No?"

I watch him reach to his inside pocket but I don't make a move. He pulls out a cigarette and lights one.

"I can't help it if your boys are too stupid to keep themselves alive."

Now I watch as his pals at the table reach for their weapons. Everything seems slower than usual, maybe it is or maybe it's just me. Either way I take advantage of the time and get a good look around. The three at the table aren't much older than Tommy was but you can tell already that they're bad blood, they'll be coming after us some day. I won't allow that.

"You see, my lads are capable of keepin' themselves alive, aye, but I've a feeling that young Tommy was sought out and I don't bloody like the thought of my lads being hunted down."

I turn to reach for the whisky and I know that I've got his full attention now. "My boss is a man that likes when things go his way and indeed, so do I. I don't want anyone gettin the wrong idea, see? Mr. Moriarty, he runs this whole town, time you saw that too."

Now I see he's properly angry and he's about to reach for his gun when I grab him by his meaty wrist and slam it to the bar where I secure it with my knife through the top and into the mahogany surface. Before I can even reach for my gun and turn I hear Danny get off two shots and I turn in time to put a bullet squarely between the eyes of the last thug.

Putting my hand on the hilt of my knife, I lean in closely and say in the Guinea's ear, "Tell your brother that Sebastian Moran sends his love and he knows where to find me." Then I yank the knife brutally from his hand as he sinks to the floor cradling the mangled mess.

"C'mon Danny, the boss is waitin'"

Outside we slide back into the car and the others are anxiously waiting for us. I don't say a word other than to tell Finn to drive me first to the boss's apartment. I need to see him and I know he'll be there now, he always takes a break from his day around this time to rest up for the evening ahead.

* * *

 

I go up and let myself in, I know he won't mind. He's sitting at the small piano and absently tapping out notes while nursing a whisky. His eyes flick in my direction briefly and then back to the ivory keys and I can see he's troubled.

"Is it done Seb?" He asks after a bit.

"Aye. I've had a wee chat with Mikey, told him where we stood. He understands completely."

His lips twitch into an almost smile and I release the breath I'd been holding. He stands up then and comes over to me. I can't help feeling a little wary.

"I knew I could count on ya Seb. Don't let something like this happen again, yeah?"

He's so very close to me so I lick my lips as I respond, "No, I won't sir."

Now he does smile properly and presses me back against the wall as he puts a hand on either side of my head. I can feel the blood pumping rapidly through my body and then he's kissing me again. It doesn't even matter to me that he's already done this before, it still feels like the first time and I'm sure I'll never tire of it. He makes me feel something I've never felt and he takes me away from myself when he does this.

Silently I pray that he'll never tire of me, I know somehow that him leaving me would be too much for me to handle. He pulls away after a moment and I realize I've wrapped my arms around his waist.

"We're ringing in the new year at the Empire State Building. I've arranged it all today."

I tilt my head, "It's not even Christmas yet."

He pulls away completely and turns, "Sod Christmas, we'll spend that quietly, yeah?"

I agree happily.


	7. Rewards

I lean breathlessly against the wall where he's left me and watch as he saunters slowly back to the piano and he lifts his glass. Swallowing the contents he turns to face me again with one hand in his pocket and I'm having difficulty reading the look on his face.

"I had lunch with Ms. Adler today, as you know. It was really very... _enlightening_."

I smooth my hair into place, "Yeah?" I ask without really needing to. "How so?" I light a smoke and offer one to him, he accepts it and lights it.

"She's smart Seb, I don't think you give her enough credit. I just think maybe you shouldn't write her off so easily."

I wrinkle my brow in confusion. "Did she threaten me, sir?"

He laughs humorlessly as he comes nearer. "No, Seb. Nothing like that, just be careful, aye?" He puts his empty right hand on my jaw and keeps it there softly. "I just worry, that's all. I don't want your- _ah_ \- past with the woman to cloud your perception of her, I think that could be fatal."

He's now standing so close and the smell of the whisky mingled with the cigarette smoke is intoxicating. I want him to have me, everything I have to offer belongs to him and I want him to devour me and never let me go. I take a tiny, imperceptible step forward and away from the wall but it does what I need and our bodies are pressed against one another. His eyebrows shoot up and he smiles properly.

" _Sebastian Moran_ , how very daring of you. I'd not thought you had it in you. You're certainly full of surprises."

He pulls my head down then and kisses me but this time it isn't sweet or soft and that's just fine with me, I don't go for sweet and soft. It's an animal magnetism I'm feeling and I want him to be rough and forceful with me, I won't break, not like this. I want him to own me and I can't explain why so I put both of my hands at his hips and hold him firmly there while he keeps his right hand on my neck and his left holds his empty glass and dead cigarette.

I don't know where this is going but by God I don't want it to end. I hear the thud of his glass falling to the floor and I open my eyes to see his dark orbs have gone nearly black with lust. His hands move to the buttons of my shirt and I don't stop him, I keep holding him because I'm afraid that if I let go that I'll awake and find this is only a very lovely dream. I need to feel him solidly under my hands, solidly against my body.

He slips my coat off of my shoulders and my holster is next, they fall to the floor with a soft, muffled thud. He pulls back momentarily to look at me and I'm sure my face is flushed with pleasure because he smiles genuinely and then he goes about undoing my suspenders from my trousers. I can only imagine the sight I make, suspenders detached, tie loosened and shirt unbuttoned while he's still as striking as ever. I get the feeling, however, that he's very much in control here just as he is in every other aspect.

When I feel him move to the button of my fly I close my eyes again and when he undoes them it's nearly my undoing too but I bite my lip and his mouth is suddenly on mine again. He's needing a shave and so am I so it's a bit more scratchy than I'm sure either of us would like but I'm not complaining, not even a little bit. He brings his hands to my chest and shoves me gently but firmly back against the wall and then he leans in and kisses just below my ear, I have to close my eyes again for a moment. When I open them he's sunk to his knees before me and he's slid my trousers down over my hips.

I gaze down at him and I just know this must be a dream, it has to be and I'll awake any moment now. How could something so wonderful like this happen to a complete bastard like me? I don't deserve this yet it's happening and I'm euphoric. His black eyes search my heated face for a second and then he leans forward and slides my entire cock into his mouth and I gasp audibly. I put my hands on the wall behind me, scrabbling for something to grasp.

If I thought this couldn't get any better then I've never been more wrong about anything in my entire life. He starts moving his mouth slowly up and down the length while sucking and moving his tongue in ways I'd never known were possible. I've paid whores who've not been this good, it's all I can do to not lose it but I bite my lip hard, drawing blood as a distraction. I watch as his dark head bobs rhythmically and I'm completely enchanted.

It's only a few moments more before I tense up and I know what's next, the climax is the best I've ever bloody had and I have to lean forward and steady myself on his shoulder with the sheer force of it. He sits back on his haunches then and looks up at me in amusement then he stands and cups my face between his hands. He leans forward so that our foreheads are touching, mine is covered in sweat while he is perfectly composed.

"You're very important to me Sebastian. Don't you ever forget that, yeah?"

My breathing is slowly returning to normal, "No, sir, I won't."

He licks his lips, "Good."

Then he moves away toward the washroom. Twenty mutes later he emerges dressed in a dark three piece suit and he's just doing up his buttons as he enters the room with the piano, where I'm seated waiting for him.

He looks at me curiously for a moment then he says, "C'mere. You'll be needing a change of tie if you're going out with me tonight."

He then leads me to his bedroom where he chooses a dark tie that's maybe just a bit shorter than I'd normally wear but I doubt if anyone will notice. He puts the material around my neck and before he positions it and begins tying it he uses it to pull my mouth down to his level and he kisses me again, this time it _is_ almost sweet and loving.

He moves his tongue in my mouth slowly and softly, gently he grazes my teeth and then over my own tongue. He straightens up again and his eyes are on my mouth and I begin to wonder if I'd died today in that pub in Harlem. A minute later he sighs and then proceeds to tie the tie around my neck and to fix my collar so that it lays flatly. He adjusts my suspenders on my trousers and I'm sure his fingers linger a tad longer than is strictly necessary. He turns then and all I can do is follow him.

* * *

 

That evening at ' _The Den'_ I tell him of Tony, Santarelli's kid and about how he came to me the night before. He smiles and takes in the information without saying too much. Irene is performing tonight and he keeps his dark eyes fixed on her glittering form as she sways next to the black piano. I know he's listening but I find it disconcerting when he does this, pretends not to be paying any attention.

Many of the patrons visit our table throughout the course of the evening. Mostly they want him to see and recognize their faces, I don't blame them. Sometimes when he feels me tense up he'll gently lay a hand on mine or he'll slowly slide one up my thigh and then I'll relax. I know that there are so many layers of this man that I'll never understand, he will constantly do things that will never seem entirely sane to me but I'd like to spend my life trying like hell to figure him out.

A man whom I vaguely recognize as a politician in the city comes over and chats quietly with him for a bit. I can't hear any of what they discuss and it makes me nervous. I know crooks, I like crooks. Politicians are the worst of the worst, especially in this city.

After a few hours more of drinking and smoking and listening to Irene's sultry voice he finally turns and faces me fully. I'm shocked because I was sure he'd forgotten I was there at this point since he hasn't touched or acknowledged me in the slightest in the last hour but he's very casual as he leans forward now and places both hands on my knees and looks directly into my eyes.

"That boy, over there near the bar."

I glance discreetly in the direction he means and then back to him. "Yeah?" I say.

"Santarelli's kid? He's not stopped watching you all night, I'd say he's quite smitten."

I laugh aloud at that, " _Smitten_? I'm twice the lad's age, don't be ridiculous."

Jim shrugs and sits back. "I'd say age doesn't matter much when the heart is concerned. What do you think we should do about him Seb?"

I've been mulling this over in the last twenty four hours and I still haven't got an answer. I look over at the smooth, anxious face of the boy as he orders a drink and I'm truly conflicted. Before I can answer however one of our lads, Seamus, comes skidding to a halt at our table where he clutches at a stitch in his side.

"Sirs, they're...they're coming."

Jim's face is suddenly serious, "Who? Who is coming?" Jim asks and it's gone so silent in the place that you could hear a pin drop.

"The coppers, sir, it's a raid."

I glance over at the bar and where Tony had been only a moment before. When I look back at Jim I can read his thoughts on his face, he's livid. I grab him by the upper arms and move him toward the back and the rickety stairs that will take us out to the alley and Finn where he's waiting with the car. Before we do I turn to the crowd and shout at them all to get out, run and don't come back until it's safe.

They scatter in terror. I swear that the following day I'll hunt that bastard down and skin him alive.  If this is the first strike then I'm sure as _hell_ not going to let them get the upper hand so soon.  They will pay. 


	8. Meetings

Jim and I are just about to the car and as I reach for the handle I hear a noise; the sound of footsteps crunching in the frozen snow behind us.  Instinctively I shove him behind me as I pull my weapon out and turn while keeping him pinned and hopefully safe from harm. Unless I'm dead no one will get to him- _no one._

I look up into the wide, simple face of Mikey Santarelli. Glancing down I see his hand is heavily bandaged and he's holding his revolver directly between my eyes, I'm sure that one wrong move and he'll pull the trigger so I do what any sane individual would do.  I step forward one step and challenge him as I bring my gun up.   A second later his more appealing and more clever yet still scum of the earth brother, Anthony Santarelli steps around the corner and into the snow covered alley way. He brings his gloved hand up to his brother's arm and gently forces him to lower the gun while shaking his head ever so slightly.

It's begun snowing lightly again and I'm now conscious of Jim moving from my protection to stand beside me. I glance over and I'm furious, he's going to get himself killed one day because he is incapable of following my orders. Jim's face is perfectly composed and he's wearing the most irritatingly smug grin. Santarelli's face is almost an exact replica. It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. The two most powerful men in New York City, probably on the entire East coast, are standing in the same place, each trying to intimidate the other, it's almost unreal.

Santarelli's dark hair is covered by his fedora and his dark wool over-coat is buttoned almost to his chin against the cold and he extends his gloved right hand for Jim to shake. I'm shocked that he complies but he does with dignity.

"James. I honestly did not expect you and your _pet_ , Moran, to be in house tonight. This is very good indeed, save us the hassle of having a separate meeting."

His voice is low and soft like velvet with just the slightest hint of a Sicilian accent. Jim slips both hands into his pockets and squares his shoulders.

"I take a very active interest in my endeavors. I believe that's why I tend to be so successful. What is it that I can do for you Anthony?"

His words are friendly on the surface but their meaning isn't lost on our Italian friend. The other man's eyes flash dangerously and then he's impassive once again. He takes a small step forward and I move to position myself so I'm between them without being in the way. I'm still holding my gun and I notice Mikey is too, I say a quick prayer asking for the ability to shoot quicker than the Italian-if it comes to that. And if I'm being honest I'm secretly hoping for an incentive to put a bullet between both of their eyes.

"I hear that your- _ah_ \- boys have been around my place in Harlem. Some of my boys didn't make it home for supper. This concerns me, they have families you see, children and wives. I don't like delivering such upsetting news, most especially at this time of year. You understand my problem, I'm sure."

Jim makes quite the show of looking shocked and appalled at this information. His dark eyebrows shoot up and his eyes go wide while a small, disbelieving smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh my! I'm truly very sorry for your loss but, my lads? _In Harlem_? Anthony, I'm sure you jest. You know we're not welcome there and I know we're not welcome there. Forgive my confusion but none of my lads are that daft. Are you certain that your... _boys_...haven't gone the wrong side of Panetta's gang... _again_?"

Mikey begins to speak and his brother silences him with a sharp look and I'm a bit awed.

"I understand James, I do. It's just- well....it's nothing I'm sure but this Harlem thing comes just after a very good pal of mine was accosted in a men's washroom in one of my favorite little restaurants."

Jim looks briefly in my direction and then back to Santarelli. It's obvious that Santarelli intends to ignore the jab about the Panetta family.

"Yes, that I can account for. Sebastian here was only delivering a teensy bit of friendly advice to Mr. Watson. I think you'll agree that the whole town loves nothing more than heading out to see his brilliantly cast productions, aye?"

Santarelli smiles widely and I'm reminded forcibly of one of those big cats I used to like hunting.

"Ah- I couldn't agree more. His productions are good for business.  I just wanted to check and make sure that your... _muscle_....wasn't getting away from you."

I can feel my blood boiling but I keep quiet and count to ten so I don't accidentally kill the slimy wop. I know Jim feels my irritability and he imperceptibly moves toward me and I feel a tad better though I'd still blow his fucking head off if given the word. One word, that's all I need, my finger is itching.

"I assure you _Tony_ , my lads meant no harm. Just a friend chatting with another friend was all that occurred. Come, we're businessmen, this-" He gestures widely, indicating myself with my revolver raised and pointing in Mikey's direction and Mikey who is the mirror image of myself. Jim's use of the name 'Tony' also doesn't go unnoticed.

"This is bad for business my friend. I wish you hadn't caused such a ruckus tonight in my club. Next time I'd much prefer if you came to me directly."

Santarelli reddens in the face as a vein throbs in his temple and his smile falters at the rebuff. I grip the butt of my weapon tighter, I'm hoping now that he'll give me the reason to squeeze this trigger. Jim's face is no longer pleasant and indulgent. He's gone absolutely serious and I'm sure the temperature in this alley has dropped several degrees in the last few moments. Santarelli steps even closer, Jim doesn't budge even an inch.

"Stay out of Harlem, stay away from my unions and most of all...keep _him_ away from my girl Molly. Do you understand me?"

"It'd be our pleasure to not meet with you again, that I can absolutely assure you but I can also promise that I don't respond very well to threats. You'd do well not to forget that. Neither of us wants a war on our hands but I am prepared to go that route. Are you?"

Jim glances down at his black wool over-coat and the snow that's lingering on the fabric. Distractedly he brushes a few flakes away. Santarelli is apoplectic with fury, it seems he's forgotten how to speak. Jim does him the favor of not allowing him any time to form a response.

"I'd say you're not yet recovered from that messy ordeal with the Panetta's." He keeps his eyes locked with the seething Italian's for a moment and then he shrugs and turns for the car. Just before he opens the door he looks over his shoulder and says, "Take care Anthony and happy Christmas."

I'm about to close the door behind Jim and sigh a sigh of relief at his safety when the guinea finds his voice again.

"I'd keep your little starlet on a short leash if I were you. Have a happy new year and enjoy the ball at the Empire State, I'm sure it'll be nothing short of _smashing_."

I slam the door now, probably harder than is necessary, and walk around to the other side. Before getting in I look at Mikey.

"Keep outta my way or I'll do the other hand next. Ciao."

* * *

 

Inside the sedan Jim has his head leaning back and an enigmatic smile is on his lips. Just a hint of his white teeth is all that I can see but I feel warmer than I should at the sight. I know why he's happy, he's made the ignorant prick spill some information without him even realizing it and now I can't help the smile that's spreading across my own face. He puts his hand over mine on the seat as Finn turns the engine over and we pull slowly from the alley.

"' _Keep outta my way or I'll do the other hand next. Ciao.'_ " He repeats my parting words and then begins laughing quietly and he opens his eyes and looks at me.

His eyes are black in the darkness of the car but the sparkle in them is unmistakable. He's enjoying himself. I shake my head.

"Brilliant Seb, absolutely brilliant. That was a most informative meeting, wouldn't you say my love?"

"Aye. He can't really afford another war can he? Nor can we but we're in far better shape than him at the moment."

Jim nods while still smiling. "Yes, go on."

"I'll also say he's very worried about his unions, I'd say he's not keen on us nosing around and I assume that's really why he wants us to keep out of Harlem. Most of his locals are situated there. I also say that if we plan to get our construction business moving along, and we really should, that we might well need to look into the steel workers union and maybe a few of the others."

"Yes, I agree. After the new year. I, however, am wondering exactly who that girl is and why she's so important to our Italian friend. I think that's most important now."

"I've met her. She works for him or- she was at the auditions when I went looking for Watson and at the time I thought she worked for Watson, now I guess she's been working for him all the time."

"Yes it seems so. You'll be needing a date for the New Year's Eve party. Choose well my dear, aye?"

I laugh ironically. "Sure, an Italian who'd love a reason to skin me warns me off his broad five minutes ago and now you're telling me to take her out. Sure, boss, I can never resist a good game."

We slow to a stop in front of his place and he gazes at me, all traces of frivolity are gone from his face as he leans in closer. When he looks at me this way, all pretenses dropped, just him and me, I feel like I lose a little more of myself each time. I wish, futilely, that it could always be this way even though I know it can't. We don't live those lives, we've chosen _these_ lives, for better or worse.

"Be careful, Seb." He says tenderly, "I want to know who she is and what she means to him but I _need_ you to be safe. No fuck ups, not like the last time a girl was involved, yeah?"

I shiver involuntarily and he closes the gap between us. His cold lips are on mine and nothing else matters. His kiss is soft and sweet at first but then quickly becomes hungry so I have to put my hands on either side of his face to stop from taking him right here with Finn in the driver's seat. His chest is heaving slightly as I gently push him away. He takes a second and then he turns to get out but he turns back to me one final time.

"Seb?"

"Yeah?"

"Wear something nice, yeah?"

I laugh out loud and he gets out into the now heavily falling snow and I watch as he enters his building. I feel in my gut that we are heading into a war and I fear there's nothing we can really do to stop it. It's a bit like being on a run away engine. The wheels are in motion and it's only a matter of time until the explosion that will rock this entire city to it's foundation.


	9. Dates and Threats

I'm still not sure where any of this is going. In the past few weeks my world has been taken from it's basic foundation of normalcy- which involves drinking, whoring, gambling and general debauchery with the occasional garroting thrown in for good measure- and has been twisted even beyond _my_ control. I've been uncommonly loyal to Jim Moriarty which has, in itself, been a new experience for me; to date the only man I've ever been loyal to was myself.

I'm a bloody bastard and I'd open my own father's windpipe if it'd help me win a hand of cards. It's not often that I decide to be unwavering in my loyalty. Throughout prohibition I've done everything he asked of me and didn't bat an eye. Murder? _No problem_. Extortion? _Happily_. Bribery? _With pleasure_. I'm even prepared to continue serving him loyally but now he's asking me to do something completely absurd. Get a date with Molly Hooper.

The thing is--It's not fear that makes me hesitate-it's uncertainty. She seems nice enough if a little naive but she's very important to Santarelli and I assume there's a reason. She doesn't seem the type to be a mistress so I doubt that's it. She also doesn't seem capable of living the lifestyle of Santarelli though nothing is impossible. What does she possess that makes him so protective of her? I'm at a loss so I do what I always do in these situations. I wing it.

The day after our snowy meeting in the alleyway I head over to Broadway intending to scout out the office space where Watson had been set up. The street always looks so different during daylight hours, the neon signs don't blink enticingly and the box offices are all closed up at this time. The pedestrians milling up and down the busy street have none of the glitz or glam that you'd see closer to show time.  It's oddly desolate. 

As I walk I'm absorbed by my jumbled and tangled thoughts. I see a war looming on the horizon and if I'm honest just the thought of it makes my heart beat excitedly in my chest. I never feel more alive than when I'm killing a man. I doubt if I'll ever cease to revel in the bloodlust of combat. I just can't help wondering though, what exactly is Jim's angle?

His bootlegging gigs earned him enough money to live comfortably and his current clubs bring in a mint so aside from personal business with Santarelli I can't really tell why he's sending me to provoke a fight. I feel pretty sure that he knows something about Molly and her importance to the Italian but he's not so inclined as to tell me yet, well, that's just fine.

I'm distractedly looking around at the various shops and theaters as I walk, all of which are decked out for the Christmas holiday which is just a couple of days off. I'm so engrossed by the scene that I'm caught completely unprepared as I run headlong into a fellow pedestrian. She seems just as flustered as I am and she smiles shyly at me as I look into the warm brown eyes of Molly Hooper.

I catch her quick glance at my chest and I'm sure she's recalling the last time she ran into me and felt my weapon under my coat. She has every reason to be apprehensive. Today she's wearing a wool coat which is buttoned almost to her chin and she has a stylish hat over an intricate hair do atop her head. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold and I see she's carrying some documents in her wooly, gloved hands.

"Molly! Really, if we keep doing this I fear one of us'll get hurt."

She smiles and backs up a step, the sun is blinding on the white snow and she squints a little as she looks at me.

"I'm surprised to see you here sir. I thought- well..."

I narrow my eyes questioningly but I don't say anything, I know what she's thinking. I'm sure her boss has warned her away from me already and now I'm even more determined. She turns, obviously hoping to make a get away.

"I'm sorry Mr. Moran but I really am running a bit late."

"Oh, yes, of course I don' want to keep you. Good afternoon."

She smiles and begins to walk away as I reach in my pocket for a cigarette. I watch as she moseys up the pavement and stops about twenty paces away. It seems she's trying to make up her mind. A moment later she turns back around and strides purposefully toward me. I inhale deeply on my cigarette feeling the satisfying burn in the back of my throat.

"Mr. Moran, sir, would you-uh- well, I'm sorry if this is a bit forward but, would you like to have coffee with me?"

I smile slowly and drop my cigarette to the ground where it sizzles in a puddle of slush. "I would love _nothing_ more than to have coffee with you."

I offer my arm to her and she tucks her papers under her one arm while linking the other with mine. We head off down the street toward the nearest café on the corner. Inside we each order a hot coffee and I get a slice of apple pie, she declines the offer of any food.

I watch her from across the grimy little table. She seems nervous but alert, I notice that her eyes keep darting to the mirror above the bar and then back to my face at which point she smiles slightly. When my pie arrives I offer it to her again and she shakes her head. I figure I'd better start this since she seems undecided about her motives so I jump right in. My patented Moran move.

"So, Molly, what's a nice lass like yourself doing working for a _Mog_ like Watson?"

She wraps her small hands around her ceramic mug and looks at me frankly. I pause with a bite of my pie half way to my mouth. I guess I didn't expect this to be any more than a way to figure one another out but the look on her face is determined and now I'm interested.

"I want to get away Mr. Moran. I know what he intends for me and I don't want to be a part of it. I just-" she swallows hard and casts her eyes down to where her hands rest on the table with the mug between them. Her shoulders heave with a deep breath and she looks back at me, I see her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

"I'm not sure I follow ye Molly. What does he intend for ya?"

Her eyes go to the mirror again briefly and then I see her look warily at the bulky man at the bar. He's now got my full attention. I see she won't or most likely _can't_ talk about it here so I lean forward and unbutton my coat, just in case.

"Listen Molly, I understand, d'you hear? I wanna help ya but you're going to have to tell me how."

She nods and looks at least slightly relieved.

"Good. My boss is having a party for New Year's, I'd like you to come with me, if...well...if you've not got any other plans that is."

I'm internally annoyed at my blundering. I can cut a man's throat without even blinking but I try to ask a gal on a date and I'm like an idiot school boy. She smiles sweetly and leans even closer, I can see she's just putting on an act for the muscle in a suit.

"I'd like that very much. We don't have to report to work this entire week because of Christmas so I'll have plenty of time to shop for a lovely dress."

"I look forward to it my dear, it'll be at the Empire State Building. Should be quite the bash I hear."

Her eyes genuinely light up at this information. "Oh! I've not been to the Empire State Building yet!"

Her enthusiasm is abundant though our voices are barely above a whisper. I finish my pie and we drink our coffee as we chat amiably. Outside the café I kiss her hand gently and we finalize plans for New Year's Eve and just as it begins flurrying once again she sets off up the street and disappears amongst the thickening crowd.

After a few moments of watching after her I turn in the opposite direction intending to make my way to _The Den_. I decide to take a short-cut since it's getting colder and colder as I walk. I turn a corner to pass behind some dingy restaurants and just as I pass some rubbish bins I hear a noise but I'm not quick enough this time.

Before I can reach for my gun someone has my arms pinned painfully behind me and I only have a minute to recognize the brutish face of Mikey Santarelli before he slams his uninjured, ham-like fist into my gut and I'm doubled over from the pain. I don't have much time though before the thug holding me has me upright again so this time he connects his fist with my jaw one, two and three times making my head snap back and forth with each blow.

I'm feeling a little woozy and I taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I can't even move my arms an inch as I feel someone else scrabbling inside my coat and then I see the glint of metal as my pistol is produced and handed to Mikey. He takes it and holds it up before me with a sneering look on his simple face.

"Well, well, well Moran. It ain't so much fun when you're on the other side huh?"

I spit blood into the bit of snow at his feet and he glares angrily.

"Whaddya want Mikey? I'm late for a meeting."

Even in the late and failing daylight of the grimy alley I can see his face redden.

"You've been told to stay away from the girl."  He growls at me, all pretenses dropped. 

I arch my eyebrows and I wonder how stupid I must be to continue provoking him while I'm in this helpless position but I can't help myself, I'm a bloody prick.

"This is about a bit of pussy, aye? She must be good then, although now I'm not sure if I'm interested if you've had yer cock in her."

That comment earns me another fist in my abdomen which completely takes away my ability to breathe but I'm yanked back up, this time by my hair and I'm greeted with Mikey's foul, garlic scented breath inches from my face. He tugs even harder on my hair causing me to wince involuntarily.

"You filthy fuckin' Mick. Stay the fuck away from her and don't even speak her name. D'you hear me?" He yanks harder yet when I refuse to answer. "D'you hear me?!"

The next instant he let's me go and I'm thankful but the reprieve doesn't last long as he hits me once more on my face, this time closer to my right eye and then I feel the solid, cold metal of my own pistol hit me forcefully across my head and all is blackness.

* * *

 

I wake up God only knows how much later and I'm greeted with familiar surroundings. Well, that's good then, at least I'm not dead-or maybe I am- either way it doesn't seem so bad but my head hurts like hell. I try to sit up and my chest and stomach are aching like I've been trampled by a herd of elephants. I finally struggle upright and I see I'm spread on the red velvet sofa in Jim's office in the back part of _The Den_. Jim is sitting on his desk with his back to me, his shoulders are hunched and he's not wearing a coat.

I assume he hears the springs in the sofa when I move so he stands and turns toward me, he seems relieved to see me awake. _Jesus_ , how long was I out? I grab a cigarette from the side table and light it as I lay back down gingerly.  I don't even want to take my shirt off even though it's a bloody mess and I  figure my face must look even worse than I feel because Jim is looking at me like I'm something from a museum.

"Alright?" I ask as I exhale painfully. I don't like his silence very much, it's unnerving. He comes over to me then, pausing at the small bar to pour me a bit of Irish whisky which I accept gratefully.

"What happened Sebastian?"

His voice is low, a purr which I know is simply a prelude to the most dangerous set of claws if he doesn't get the answer he wants. I tell him of my entire afternoon and he barely even blinks. When I've finished at the part where I don't remember any more he stares blankly for a bit longer and then stuffs both hands deep in his trouser pockets and turns his back to me as he prowls over to his desk once more. When he reaches the desk he leans forward and puts both palms down on the surface while dipping his head between his shoulders.

I watch raptly, he's angry, angrier than I've ever seen him. He picks up the half empty crystal decanter which I know holds very expensive scotch and he throws it at the far wall where it shatters and splashes everywhere.

" _This_.  _Is_. _War_. _Sebastian_. They will _not_ get away with this. D'you understand that?"

I nod. There's really no other response. He comes slowly back toward me and I down my whisky in one swallow. When he reaches me he places a hand very gently on my bruised and swollen jaw and gazes at me curiously.

"This-" He closes his eyes tightly, when he opens them they are black voids and I feel a shiver run down my spine. "This is unacceptable. They will pay for what they've done Seb. You know I'll make them."

I nod again. I have no reason to doubt him.  He turns away again and when he speaks his voice is quiet but his words are unmistakable even with the faint sounds of the club from beyond this room.

"I've decided that for Christmas this year Seb, I want you to put a bullet in Michael Santarelli." He turns to face me and a slow smile has transformed his features into someone I nearly don't recognize. 

"Happy Christmas _my_ love."


	10. Venomous

"Seb."

I wince as I nick my jaw with the sharp blade of my razor. I wait a heartbeat and then continue.

"Seb!"

_Dammit_! I now have two spots of scarlet beads on my slowly healing jaw and all because he can't give me a moment to myself. I grab the wet, warm towel with a sigh and clean the remaining creme from my face. Grabbing my shirt I shrug it on but don't button it as I go to the main room to find Jim and see what's so damn important that I was forced to rush through my shave.

He smiles benignly at me from the chair by the window. The late afternoon sun is filtering weakly through the grimy glass just before it sets over the Hudson. I'm on edge to begin with and he isn't helping matters as he lounges there loosely holding on to a glass of whisky and his jacket draped over the back of his chair. His dark waist coat hugs his torso pleasantly and I notice the shimmering gold of his watch chain. He's needing a shave as well but I _do_ enjoy the sparse dark pattern of hair over his jaw and upper lip.

He tilts his dark head to one side. "C'mere Seb."

I do as I'm asked but I'm hesitant. We've a long night ahead of us and I like to keep to a schedule. When I reach him he stands, placing his empty glass on the side table. He grabs both sides of my shirt collar and firmly tugs at them as he smoothes the material over my chest. I get a chill which he notices and he laughs.

"Oho! I've still got it, eh?"

I smile in spite of myself and place my right hand on his jaw rubbing my thumb over his bristly chin. I love the way he unintentionally leans into it.

"Whaddya need Jim? We've a lot to do yet."

His hands have moved to the buttons of my shirt and he's frowning as he begins to do them up. Wrinkling his nose he says, "I prefer to _undo_ the buttons. This isn't nearly as much fun."

"Aye, agreed. What's going on?"

He steps away and surveys his handiwork as I begin to work at tucking my shirt into my trousers.

"Jim, something's on your mind love and I'd prefer if you'd get it out now. We don' want any mistakes. It's very important that we don't encourage a massacre tonight, eh?"

He's turned away from me and has his hands in his pockets while looking out over the city. I watch the back of his shiny dark head as I reach for my suspenders and fix them in place.

"It's Irene." He says quietly. I pause in positioning my shoulder holster and securing my weapons in place.

"What is it boss?" I ask, slipping back into my job. "What's happened?"

"Someone's threatened her. It came as an anonymous message yesterday but I think we all know who it was."

He turns to face me as I'm buttoning my suit coat. "What was the message?" I inquire.

"Oh, just some nasty name calling and a threat that if she continues to pursue the role in Watson's production that she'll be sorry."

I nod. "I'll take care of it after we finish tonight's work."

He just continues watching me as I light a cigarette.

"Ye know, I've been thinking. We really ought to lay low after tonight anyway. D'you think we should still do the thing on New Year's Eve?"

He picks up his dark suit coat and slips it over his slender shoulders.  "Let's get through Christmas Eve first my dear, yeah? After that we'll talk."

He comes to stand in front of me again and I'm slightly unnerved by the intense look in his nearly black eyes. Hooking both forefingers through my belt loops he pulls me closer and forces my head down to his. He covers my mouth with his own while holding me firmly in place. I feel like he's trying to tell me something without words. Something he can't express in any other way. Our noses bump once and he laughs, slightly out of breath. I'm still reveling in the warmth and pleasure of him when he backs away. I'm not happy about the loss and he can see that, his grin widens even further.

"I'm a man of many vices." I say catching my breath and he arches his eyebrows. "I swear some day I'll quit it all and become an honest man."

He bends forward in a shout of laughter and as he straightens up his face is amused but his eyes are deadly serious. "Oh, _love_ , you'll never quit me, no. I'm like a venom in your veins and the more you fight it the quicker I course my way through, right to your very heart."

There's a beat of awkward silence before I respond. "Oh, I'm not stupid. I know some bad habits simply _can't_ be dropped."

I'm chilled despite my arrogance. I know he means it too, I'll never leave but I guess I really don't want to. In fact, the familiar tingling in my fingers and the thrill of expectation has already begun. This is what I live for and in my opinion there is no kill as sweet as that of vengeance. This is personal for me.

* * *

 

We go down to the waiting car. Finn drives us to St. Peter's on Barclay St. at the corner of Church in Manhattan. He parks two streets away and I get out on the eerily quiet street. Night has properly fallen and so has the temperature, I rub my hands together for warmth as I glance around at the dark and closed up shops.  It's late and it's Christmas Eve, respectable folks are either at church or home with their families.  I look over my shoulder at Jim and I see his eyes sparkling with anticipation and I can't help my smile.

I turn up my collar against the cold and pull my gloves on to make the walk two streets over. I offer up a prayer that all goes accordingly. Jim is silent at my side and I wish once more that he hadn't insisted on joining me.

Just as we turn the corner onto Barclay I hear the unmistakable sounds of Finn's car not far behind us but still out of view. It's very dark and snow has begun swirling in front of my nose as I spot him pacing at the bottom of the concrete steps. Mikey Santarelli. I know he's not alone so I try to look inconspicuous as I make to cross the street. Just as I step up on the curb I catch a glimpse of Finn slowly coming up the street.

Mikey reaches to his coat as he makes us and I've got his beefy arms behind him while Jim holds a pistol in his side. The gun takes the struggle out of him and we work together to shove his bulk into the back of the car. It's over in a minute and thankfully because as Finn takes off up the street I hear gunshots in our direction and shouting in Italian which I can't make out then we turn the corner and the shots are behind us.

Santarelli is complaining and shouting at us as well but now Jim and I both have our weapons in his ribs and I've roughly shoved my hands under his coat and patted him down to relieve him of any guns or knives of his own. Finn drives us the short distance to one of our more recently closed clubs located just off of Broadway.

I jab my gun in Mikey's side with vigor as Finn slows to a stop. I want to make sure I have his attention. I need him to think that he has any chance at all of getting out of this. He doesn't but that's my secret.

"Hey, listen up, yeah? You make one sound when we step out I swear I'll spray your brains all over the concrete. You got it?"

He doesn't answer so I give him another sharp jab for good measure. We all step out and this time Finn joins us but his job is to wait outside and keep a look out. A few more of our guys are about too but I can't be too careful.

Inside the darkened pub I roughly shove the Italian into a chair and he glares at me. I've never liked him, mostly I try to ignore these filthy wops but he's been a thorn in my side for some time now. It's going to be a happy fucking Christmas indeed.

"You won't get away with this, you know that, right?" He growls at me.

Jim is leaning casually against the wall behind him, looking for all the world as though he didn't have a care. Something metal glints in the cold moonlight and I wonder vaguely when he took that from me, I never even felt his hand on my hip as he lifted my knife.

I pull up another chair and pour whisky into three tumblers which I just grabbed from the nearly empty bar. I push one toward him and one toward Jim then I take the last one and hold it up for a toast.

Mikey spits on the ground. "I wouldn't drink your cheap fuckin peasant whisky if it was my last night alive. You're gonna fuckin pay Mick, you hear me?"

I gulp mine down and Jim lifts his to do the same. A mysterious smile dances on his lips. I turn my attention back to business. Slamming my hand on the rickety table I get the guinea to pay me full attention. His eyes are full of hatred. It's not a look I'm unaccustomed to, quite the contrary.

"Listen to me. We're reasonable men. We don't want a quarrel with your brother. All this-" I gesture at him and then to my still bruised face. "This is bad for all of us, mate. Bloody bad for business. We just want to earn a bit and I know that's all your brother wants too. We just want some assurances."

A scuffle at the door draws our attention as a few of our lads bring a terrified looking boy whom I recognize as Tony Santarelli inside. His eyes are wide with shock when he sees his uncle sitting here.

"You'll have to kill me then. I ain't gonna talk to you Irish bastards about anything. Fuckin shoot me and get it over with." He snarls as he leans forward.

Smiling serenely I rise and go to stand behind his chair. Jim lovingly places the blade in my upturned palm, his cold fingers linger on my wrist.

Taking Mikey's head by his greasy hair in my left hand I place the slightly curved blade at his throat and Tony looks like he's about to piss himself. I look directly into his horrified eyes as I apply pressure and begin to feel the sharp knife cut through skin and tissue and bone. Mikey has already begun to gurgle and scrabble with his arms at the table but he knows it's over. I shiver delightfully as the blood begins to spill thickly from his opened neck.

"You tell your father that if he wants a war then a war he'll have. If he wants to negotiate then we shall do that. Tell him that if he doesn't stop coming at us then Sebastian Moran is going to hunt down _every single bastard_ bearing the name Santarelli and paint New York City red with their blood. Understand?"

I don't think the kid can answer as his uncle gurgles his last choking, crimson breath before I push him forward to lay in his own pooling blood. Our lads drag the kid from the pub and it's just me and Jim and a cooling corpse.

Jim waits for a beat and then he comes to stand by me and look down on Mikey's body. That smile is still on his lips. A second later he reaches up and turns my head toward him.

"Oh my, Sebastian. You've a very serious case of bloodlust eh?" He reaches down and grips my hard cock to my surprise, I can't seem to slow my racing heart. My hands are sticky with congealing blood which sprayed me while I cut the man and I've never been more aroused in my whole life.

I growl something which is incoherent even to me as I grab him by his face and push him back against the nearest wall. I don't wait for him to allow me access, this time I _take_ what I need. I feel like I'm a king among men and even Jim Moriarty isn't going to stop me getting what I want.  I crush his mouth violently with my own as I slide my tongue inside, hurriedly, feverishly. There is nothing elegant about what I'm after.

To my mild surprise he responds in kind and if it's possible I feel myself harden even more. His hands are tightly gripping my suspenders as if he's hoping for me to keep him steady. I undo my trousers and pull my cock out as I push him down to his knees with my other hand on his shoulder.

He glances up at me once and grins wickedly as his black eyes flash in the minimal light before he wraps his warm mouth around my hard prick. He takes it to the back of his throat but that's not enough for me so I move my hips forward while holding his head in place. His tongue is doing things to me that I can barely imagine as I continue to thrust into his throat. I want to go deeper and deeper and the sounds he is making are just added to the cacophony in my skull.

I've no idea how long it's been, him on his knees sucking and licking my cock as I slide it to the back of his throat time and time again but finally I feel it. Like nothing I've ever experienced. I'm nearly brought to my knees with the sheer force, it's an actual miracle that I can even stand as I come and my legs are made so weak. I brace myself against the wall as he stands up and looks me in my eyes.

"My, you truly are a bit like an animal, aren't yeh?"

He smiles and kisses my neck as he makes to move away. I'm still trying to catch my breath.


	11. Resources

I wake the following morning, Christmas Day, with a blinding headache that makes me immediately regret opening my eyes. I throw my forearm over my face and hear a grunt when I move so suddenly. Sitting upright I look to my left and see the most remarkable sight; messy, dark hair and his face shoved into the pillow while it appears that he's stark naked as I can see the tiny dip in his back just above his arse even though the rest of him is covered. I smile uncertainly and lie back down.

"Seb. It's too God damned early. Go back to sleep or I'll shoot you."

His voice is muffled and sleepy but I grin even wider as I'm beginning to recall the previous evening.

"Um- uh...ho-how much did I drink, eh? Was I, uh, completely horrible?"

He turns his scruffy face toward me now, "Sebastian Moran. It is early. Please shut up and go back to sleep."

He rolls to his other side, turning his back to me, and when he does the covers slip revealing his entire naked body. I've never been so thankful that he can't see me because my face must surely be the color of a tomato when I see the faint outline of bite marks on his arse. I bite my lip to stay silent and do as I'm told; I try to get some more sleep even though it's a futile effort.

My mind is swimming with obscene visions of last night and by the time I've about remembered it all I've got a hard-on so I decide to go and have a smoke and hopefully some tea. I sit at the small table staring blankly at my hands and the dried blood caked around my finger nails.

The momentary happiness that I felt at waking up with Jim in my bed evaporated almost immediately once I begin to think of the repercussions of last night. There is no way in hell that Santarelli will let this act go unanswered. I killed his brother- in front of his terrified son. _Shit_. He's bound to come at us hot.

I'm so wrapped in my thoughts and trying to sort it all that I don't even hear him come in and stand behind me so I nearly jump out of my skin when he places his cold hand on my bare shoulder. I turn around suddenly and his eyes go comically wide as he barely contains his laugh.

"Wound a bit tight this morning, eh?" He asks as he reaches for a smoke and the matches.

I crush out my own finished cigarette and heave a deep sigh. "I've just been thinking on last night and what I've done." I reply solemnly and he laughs. _Laughs_!

"What're you thinking about then, my dearest?" His voice is laced with humor.

"You're not serious? Tell me you're not."

He doesn't respond as he sucks deeply on the cigarette, hollowing his cheeks.

"For one thing, I've murdered a Santarelli. Not just one of their thugs, a _family member_. Ya know for sure that we're gonna pay."

He shrugs unconcernedly. "It's not the first time we've done something like this Seb. I hope you're not losing your nerve my love."

I roll my eyes at him, he's being purposely absurd, I can tell. "Ye know I'm not."

He shrugs again. "Then I simply don't see what you're fretting over."

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger while closing my eyes tightly. When I open them again he's watching me and all joking is gone, his face is serious.

"Sebastian. I'm not worried my love. _Yes_ , he is going to come after us. _Yes_ , this probably means a war is nigh but we shall weather it just as we've done in the past."

He puts one hand on mine where it rests on the table. This man is an enigma to me and I doubt I'll ever fully understand how his mind works but these rare moments when he let's his guard down and actually let's me in, these are the moments I live for.

His gaze holds mine for a moment longer then he sighs deeply and stretches. His dressing gown falls open slightly and I shiver as I suppress the urge to reach out and touch his porcelain like skin. The moment passes and he makes to stand up, wincing slightly. I smile to myself.

* * *

 

I have business which I _must_ attend to and so I wash and shave quickly hoping to get an early start on my day. I figure the sooner I get out then the sooner I can get back to him; the thought of leaving him alone following what I've done makes me uneasy.

I need information and I need it to be trustworthy so I go to the only place I know I can trust fully, the Bronx. I casually make my way through a section of town where I happen to know a group of boys, none of them over the age of eighteen but all of them either homeless or nearly there and out of honest work.

It doesn't take much more than me strolling by the places I know them to gather before I see a dirty face or two, they know damn well that I pay handsomely for their services. I don't know how but these boys can get into places and hear information I never could, I'm grateful for their help and I make certain they know it. 

I'm just lighting a smoke when I see a face I know well, it's a boy of fifteen and his name is Paul, I think. The lad knows his way round New York and not just the Bronx, somehow he is capable of getting information from anywhere about anyone. He's simply indispensable to me and I'm pleased to see his swarthy face now.

"How 'bout givin' me a smoke then?"

I inhale deeply on my own. "You're just a kid, lay off eh?"

He pouts but then perks right back up an instant later. "Listen kid, I need something. You up to a job?"

He smiles revealing quite a few missing teeth. "Whaddya need sir?" He rubs his hands together for warmth and I see his gloves are frayed and filthy.

"The usual. I need some dirt. I know ye know who John Watson is. There was a lass working for him a few weeks back, her name is Molly Hooper. I need to know who she really is, every shred ye can lay your hands on. Ya think ya can handle that?"

He squints his eyes in concentration. "Watson's that theater Jack, yeah?"

I nod. "It's very important Paul, that I have this information before New Year's, understand?"

He smiles again. "Yeah, yeah I got it." I look up and down the street where we've stopped. "Ye understand that the sooner ya get back to me the better I'll be payin' ye?" His eyes light up.

"Yeah, yeah boss, I know."

"Good. You know where to find me." I offer him a cigarette from my pack as I turn to leave. "Be careful, yeah? Don't forget, you've not ever seen my face. Happy Christmas."

* * *

 

I head promptly to _The Den_ after finishing my business and find Jim is in his office. When I enter Irene turns and faces me from where she's standing behind his desk, a hand resting lightly on his chest, it appears I've interrupted something. I mumble my apologies as I turn to leave but he stops me.

"Come in my love. Irene was just leaving, weren't you doll?"

She backs away from him straightening her smart, ivory knee length skirt and then reaching to straighten her perfect pill box hat atop her head.

"Yes, of course. I only wanted to confirm our plans for New Year's darling. I simply can't wait, everyone's talking about it. It's going to be _quite_ the evening."

She saunters to the door which I've moved away from. There she stops and turns, pulling on her dainty ivory gloves and blows us both the most delicate kiss.

" _Ciao_ Mr. Moriarty, Mr. Moran." Then she turns and is gone, the door clicking behind her as it closes.

I light a smoke to hide my irritation. This man is positively infuriating. I doubt he can even tell I'm angry.

"How'd your business go dearest?"

I go and pour a Scotch, deliberately taking my time before answering. When I feel his hands on my waist, under my coat, I freeze. The man can move like a ghost and it's still shocking that anyone alive can sneak up on me the way he does. My irritation is gone in a flash.

His voice is a low murmur that I feel reverberate through my spine as he leans his head between my tensed shoulder blades.

"You are quite the beautiful creature Sebastian."

He pauses and his hands are searching as they move higher up to my chest and then move slowly, tantalizingly back to my hips. I don't breathe a word, not wanting to disturb the moment. He adds a bit more force and urges me to turn and face him, I wonder what he must see in my eyes because I'd bet my life on the fact that they are wild with desire at this moment. Just his touch alone could do that to me.

"Yes, you are very beautiful indeed. _Uniquely_ beautiful." He trails a finger along my jaw and I'm sure I've forgotten how to breathe. "And, what I love best about you, my sinfully divine pet, is that you belong to me."

The memory of breathing returns to me and I reach out and grab his pristine tie by the knot at his throat and drag him directly to me. He seems briefly startled but it passes and he grins wickedly again, just like the night before and it suddenly dawns on me, he enjoys me when I get this way. He thrills at my animalistic side, he needs me to possess him nearly as much as I need him- so be it.

I lean down slightly and cover his mouth with mine, my tongue forces his lips apart and I'm sure he's enjoying every second of this, this is what he wanted of course. I don't let go of his tie but I put my left hand on his arse and forcibly pull him closer, he needs to feel my arousal. His breath hitches and I'm sure he felt it.  Our mouths seem to be fighting for dominance, each of us nibbling and caressing the other with more force than is entirely called for. 

I hold him there for a long time, I want to fuck him senseless, I want him to know that I own him as much as he owns me. In the end however, when neither of us can breathe properly, I let him go. I know I don't own him any more than I own the Empire State Building and that's why, with an enormous effort, I turn back to my Scotch and drink it all down.

"Some day I think you'll understand but I fear I won't be here to see it."

He's silent behind me and I can't bear to look so I have another drink and wait an interminable amount of time until I finally hear his footsteps as they retreat from the room. Someday, I tell myself. Someday may be too late.


End file.
